“So, what truth is it you’ve been dying to share with me?” She blinked as if shuttering away that moment of being unsettled. If she did remember, she showed no sign.
“You should choose your words more wisely when speaking to someone who is offering you a shot at freedom,” he growled, his temper rising.
At that, Gandrett snorted. “Freedom?” She unfolded her arms and placed both hands on the armrests of her chair. “What is freedom?”
Her words hit him right in the chest. But for nothing in the world would he let her see, even guess what lay behind that face he chose to wear—a warrior’s face, cunning, unfeeling.
“How will you get me out of here?” she eventually asked, her own face mirroring his, her words carrying a bitter note. “If you have been here before, you know that there are only two ways to get out.” She held up one sun-tanned hand, counting for him. “One, you are a visitor. You come; you go. Two, you turn of age and are sent on a mission.” She pursed her lips as if thinking. “But, wait… I have one more year to go until then, and even if I get sent on a mission, my life will always belong to the order.” Her eyes searched the ceiling in a quite skilled display of someone who was having an epiphany. “So, no, Nehelon—if that is even your real name—now, the second way to get out of here is to be dead.”
He could hardly watch her. Seventeen and so bitter, already tested by life to a degree hardly any child in Neredyn was. And she didn’t even know the half of it. Of course there was no way she could trust him. Not that he deserved her trust. So for now…
“It is my real name,” he simply said, leaving any emotion out of it.
“Nehelon, Lord of—?” she prompted.
“What makes you think that I am a lord?”
A nod at his sword was all the response he needed. How observant she was. The hilt, gold and set with jewels in the color of the House of Brenheran, gave away where his alliances lay even if it didn’t even come close to where he hailed from.
“I have convinced the Meister to release you from your training early to assist in a matter of utmost importance instead.” The words sounded like a joke rather than a real offer, especially given she had just schooled him in how little she thought she could ever attain freedom.
Gandrett fell silent in her chair, face calm despite the disbelief.
“I am to work with you?” she asked, looking about as happy as a fish swimming in glass shards.
“You are to work for me,” he clarified and leaned against the windowsill, posture deliberately aloof. “That is if you agree to the terms the Meister and I agreed on.”
Had he thought Gandrett was unhappy earlier, he now saw what a truly horrified look did to her otherwise pleasant—if dirty—face. Her supple lips thinned, and her eyes, big and clear—even if their color wasn’t identifiable from a distance and in this light, tightened as if she was chewing them off from the inside.
“Not that you have much of a choice, really,” he added with a quiet hope he would see what she was capable of if she were to kick back her check on her fighter’s temper.
Gandrett was still fuming as she ascended the stairs to the top level of the building where she shared a room with Surel. Her lips were almost bloody from gnawing on them so she wouldn’t rip Nehelon’s throat out.
So the Meister was selling her to Nehelon like a prize pony. Even worse, lending her to the upsetting warrior. To give back after the task was fulfilled so the Meister could send her on another mission and another and another—until she no longer was able to fight. And then? What would become of her? Would she live with the priests and priestesses of Vala, serve them like so many of the former acolytes… at least the ones who hadn’t died on their missions?
She stomped down the narrow corridor, footsteps enhanced by the creaking wood that made an uneven floor, and flung open the door to her room with a push of her free hand.
“By Vala,” Surel started on her bed as she took in the expression on Gandrett’s face. “What happened?”
But Gandrett shook her head, dropping on her own bed, and sat wordlessly for half a minute, focusing on the reassuring weight of her sword in her hand.
She hadn’t struck Nehelon. She was glad she hadn’t. But even if she had controlled herself enough to simply turn and leave rather than tell—or show—him exactly what she thought of the proposition, she knew there would be consequences.
“Maybe you should eat dinner before you tell me,” Surel suggested, eyeing Gandrett’s blade with the same respect the other apprentices did. Even if Surel’s primary skill was water magic, she had been trained in the basics of sword fighting, the same way all of them had—and she had sparred with Gandrett and lost countless times. “I am sure Nahir can whip something up for you.”
Gandrett shook her head. Hunger was the last thing on her mind, but freedom…
Freedom tasted like a forbidden fruit on her tongue. And Nehelon had offered it—even if it was temporary.
If she should find herself able to live with that one painful detail of the conditions—she’d work for him. The Lord of Ackwood. Lord Tyrem Brenheran. The man who had given the order to take her from her parents and ship her to Everrun.
No matter how prestigious everyone thought it was to get chosen—everyone made themselves believe it was to get chosen—it wasn’t. Not anymore, not when it was your family. When it was you being publicly sheered and dipped in cold water and consecrated in the name of the goddess. And by his order, Tyrem Brenheran had sealed her fate.
“Do you ever think of what comes after our life here?” She lifted her head and studied Surel, who seemed unsure about how to answer her question.
Of course, Surel as a water mage would have a good life, maybe even become a high priestess one day, be able to make some demands and have a comfortable life—as long as she never went against the order’s orders. And as long as she never fell in love.
For Gandrett, as a fighter, a warrior, going on a mission would likely mean that her life after here would be short. Too short to even figure out what having a life would mean.
“There is plenty of time for us before we need to face it,” Surel reminded with a raised eyebrow.
“For me,” Gandrett admitted, “there might not be that much time after all.
The water mage sighed and padded across the room to take Gandrett’s sword from her hands. Then, she enclosed the still dirty fingers in her own. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes.”
And so, Gandrett told Surel about the conversation she’d had with Nehelon, the offer to escape Everrun a year earlier—and step into the service of the man who was responsible for her ending up here at all.
With enough patience to make Gandrett wonder if the girl had fallen asleep beside her, Surel listened, her golden-tan face serious.
Gandrett didn’t need to add that she hadn’t agreed to anything, and Surel’s reaction was similar to her own. Only Surel didn’t hold back her thoughts.
She cursed violently, words that would have the Meister punishing her for blasphemy, and Gandrett, for the first time this day, felt a real smile creeping on her face. She leaned her head against Surel’s and sighed.